


Spirits of the Grove

by TheScripted



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, Complicated Relationships, Death, Drama & Romance, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Spirits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7520311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScripted/pseuds/TheScripted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tree of Life calls to her nightly, left to wander among the damp moss and vines waiting for a sign. Heaven rains fire upon the forest, could this possibly be the compulsion Lexa has waited to answer?  </p><p>-</p><p>Coalescence of various fantasy aspects and The 100, wanted to add a different twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roots in Heaven; Branches to Earth

Earth

Moss and vines gently give way beneath the weight of bare feet, no sound can be heard except the hum of the forest. Crickets gently chirping, frogs croaking their song into the night. Fingertips brush flowers along her path, pulling them to bloom and wane as her touch leaves them. Languidly she is drifting through the forest, connected to the pulsing universe before her. Steam pours from her mouth as she slowly releases a sigh into the cool, crisp air. Lexa turns her piercing green eyes to the starlit sky, uncertain of this nagging compulsion within her. Since her rebirth, her spirit is restless, aching; soothed only when she walks this particular path, stopping at the same spot beneath the great fig tree, the Tree of Life. Branches gnarled, twisted, and worn reaching towards the heavens. 

Tan, calloused hands trail across the ancient bark, Lexa can feel everything around her. Dew collecting, footfalls of her people in nearby Polis, heartbeats of creatures of the forest safely sleeping in their dens. Lexa quietly hums at the peaceful sounds that soothe her spirit for a fleeting moment. As she pulls her hand from the tree, Lexa feels the disconnected, restless feeling return. She stills for a moment beneath the tree, eyes closed, inhaling deeply she hears a staggering sound, as if the heavens have split open. Eyes dart upward, glittering in the night sky. _Fire_. Fire streaking across the pitch-black sky. Instantly her hand is back on the tree, Lexa feels the forest cry in pain, her mind seeking the location of this insult. Without a moment of hesitation Lexa is moving through the forest. 

Branches, vines, and roots move out of her way as her feet deftly carry her through the dark forest. Light armor holds tightly to her slender form, sword at her back, tight braids in her dark, wavy hair flit through the night air. Was this why she has been called night after night?

 

Sky

A pile of books surround the blonde on the biting, concrete floor. Pictures of Earth litter the walls of her cell. Glancing down, the tree covers her entire floor, its branches twisted and gnarled, the roots deep and sturdy. Clarke cannot recall where she saw it, how she learned of it, but she longs to feel it. To see Earth, feel the soft grass beneath her feet, breathe air that is not stale, stuffy and recycled like the Ark. This is home, this six by eight metal cell. She leans backwards against the cool metal of the wall, sleep is her only escape from this prison. She allows the chalk to slip from her slender fingers. Eyes close, the sounds of the Ark fade out of existence. Clarke breathes deeply, slowly, steadily and drifts off into a fitful sleep. 

She dreams of many things, mostly of her father. His loss still pulls deeply at her core, the grief all consuming. Floated because of knowledge, his need to help and protect. This knowledge is the reason Clarke is now imprisoned in this solitary cell. Abruptly, his image begins to fade and Clarke is running. Sweat beads across her forehead, heaving breaths set her lungs aflame, boots pound against rain soaked soil. _A forest_. She is searching relentlessly, but uncertain of what she seeks. Looking down, a strangled cry catches in her throat, the ground is littered with the dead. _This is not a forest, it is a graveyard._ A light touch upon her cheek tears her from her slumber. Blurry vision gives way to her mother, confusion knits itself across her brow. 

Her speech thick with sleep, Clarke whispers, “Mom?”

Abby cups her daughter’s face gently, “I’m sorry, Clarke.’’ A needle slides into Clarke’s neck, “We’re running out of options, we have to see if we can survive down there—forgive me. Do what you must to survive, you’re going to want to help and protect the others, just like your Father, but Clarke, you must take care of yourself.”  

Before Clarke can muster a response the darkness consumes her.

…..

“It is done,” Abby murmurs flatly. 

Her eyes drift passed the man seated in front of her to look upon the Earth. Thumb and forefinger nervously rub against one another, anxiety hidden behind her eyes. 

Thelonious Jaha sits relaxed behind his desk, hands folded nonchalantly, “Excellent. I must admit, I was uncertain you’d place Clarke in this position. You must truly believe in her abilities, that Earth can sustain us again.”

“Clarke is a survivor, Chancellor. She knows better than anyone what is at stake for the Ark. She has been paying for it since the loss of Jake.” She stares at him defiantly, full of pride. 

Marcus Kane stands brooding in the corner of the small room, his arms crossed in front of his chest, irritation thick in his voice “This is a foolish endeavor, we should be exploring other options for the Ark, not wasting our time on an inept child.” 

“We killed the one man who could have helped us solve this crisis, there are no other options, Kane.” Abby’s shoulders subtly sink, as if defeated. 

“Sacrifice a few for the many,” looking at the Chancellor, Kane paces around the room, eyes wild, “we can still get ahead of this and give ourselves more time.”

A look of sheer disgust paints itself across Abby’s face, fury rising her voice “Now, you want to kill innocent people? I will not stand by and—”

“And what,” Kane shakes his head solemnly, voice sinking lower, “let it happen? You should know better than anyone, you sent your own daughter on a suicide mission.”

Silence shrouds the three, tension permeates the air in the office. A sudden rap of knuckles on the door pulls the them from their thoughts. 

Jackson nervously steps into the office searching for Abby, feeling the discomfort he quickly speaks, “Dr. Griffin, they’ve landed.” 

…..

Panic rises from her the depths of her stomach, Clarke’s eyes tear open, sweeping back and forth across a new unfamiliar metal cage. There are supply crates, but no books, no pictures of Earth, no chalk tree etched into the floor. _Don’t panic._ Clarke begins to run over the events in her head, _I fell asleep, I dreamed of my father, and I think I saw my mother_. Bile rises in her throat as she recalls the words her mother spoke to her, “forgive me.” 

_No, no, no this cannot be._  

Clarke feels the straps suffocatingly, tight against her chest, vibration beneath her boots, she is moving and the view from small window tells her that it is away from the Ark. 

Fingers dig into the arm rest, panic fueling Clarke’s racing thoughts:

_I am alone, hurling towards Earth, I'm going to die._

Before she can reassure herself, the pod begins to violently shake, metal moans and groans, as if it is shattering at the welded seams. Flames obscure her view to the outside.

_Impact._

Earth 

“Heda!” an exasperated yell echoes into the crisp air, “It is not safe!” a cavalier of gonas crash through the trees on horseback in pursuit of the young brunette. 

Three men with swords sheathed upon their backs, tight leather armor coupled with pieces of thick bark like material trample the ground behind the girl. 

Frustration creeps up Lexa’s spine, slowly turning she faces the warriors, “I did not ask for your counsel, nor your escort. It would be wise for you to return to the post, _I_ assigned you.”

The largest gona leans forward in determination, “The heavens rain fire upon us, Heda! Polis is near rioting in fear of the prophecy!” His jaw clenched tight beneath his beard, his once soft features hardened with scars. 

Her spirit rages within her core, _how dare he question his Heda, defy her!_ While annoyed at the interruption, she silently appreciates his dedication. _He honors me with his loyalty, this is why you keep him close._

Lexa’s spirit urges her to continue running, she must protect her forest; she must answer the call. But what of her her people? Tension seeps into her muscles, making them quiver beneath her armor. The relationship between Druid Clans has been tenuous, at best. The fall of Polis into panic could undo the Coalition, it could lead to her sacrifice. 

Breathing deeply, Lexa nods in agreement. “I must return,” Lexa nods to the largest gona, “Gustus, ride to Tondc and send Indra to investigate, she is to report findings to me directly.” 

Casting her eyes back into the forest, softly lit with moonlight Lexa gives one final command, “Mind the forest, she is in pain.” 

He bows his head before her, “Sha, Heda.”

…….

Moonlight casts an eerie glow upon the vine and moss covered ancient stone walls before her. Lexa makes long strides along the dirt covered path before her, approaching the tall wooden gate. Panicked shouts drift out from behind the gate, a stoic masks slides into place as Lexa enters without hesitation. 

Her people have gathered in the center of Polis, fear evident on the faces of her citizens. What can she tell them, if she herself does not know? The crowd stills and quiets at her approach, watching in awe as their Heda stands before them. Delicate antlers branch out above each sharply angled ear, delicately placed warpaint around her eyes, feet bare, armor more bark than leather, eyes forest green and wise beyond comprehension. She is the chosen; the vessel. Citizens begin falling to their knees, heads bowed in honor. The soft pat of her feet upon the stone is deafening in the silence. Lexa gracefully centers herself among her people, she readies herself, _spirits guide me._   In a moment of spontaneity she begins her speech…

 

Crash Site 

_Drip, drip, drip_

Deep blue eyes flicker open only to see a puddle of blood forming, a warm trickle trails up her forehead before landing with a hollowed thud on the metal. Clarke lifts a tentative hand to her face, a sharp sting greets her as fingertips brush a laceration above her right eyebrow. 

“Great,” she mutters.

Muscles ache deeply, head throbbing with every heartbeat. Shaking fingers begin fiddling with the harness that has her strapped in, upside down. Without a second thought she releases the latch and crashes to the ground with a thud. Air knocked from her lungs, laying in a small pool of her own blood Clarke cannot imagine things being any worse than they are now. 

Clarke lays, in utter defeat, upon the ceiling of her crashed pod. _Get it together, Clarke. Think!_ Blowing out a slow breath between pursed lips she begins to collect her courage. Sitting up she surveys the scattered supply crates. Glancing to the side she sees her old backpack, thinking it is as good of place as any to begin her search. Tentative fingers unbuckle her pack and reaches within. Clarke recognizes her Father’s watch, fingers glide across the glass face. She tamps down the lump rising in her throat and gently slips the watch upon her wrist. Next, she finds her leather bound sketchbook and begins to flip through it until her index finger reaches the last page. Stormy eyes scan a note scribbled quickly upon the page, the leather creaks beneath gripping fingers. 

> _Clarke,_
> 
> _The Council has sent you and a few others to the ground to determine our survivability. We’re running out of air, just as your father predicted. Find the others, you have communication equipment, supplies, and a map of the region. Head to Mount Weather, there’s a supply cache and shelter. The Council is threatening to reduce the population; we’re running out of time, I’m running out of time. Be safe, I love you._

As Clarke finishes the letter, the door of her drop ship is ripped off its hinges. Bright, white light filters into the room blinding her. Raising an arm to her eyes, she can see the outline of a muscular man. Eyes sweep upwards from his dusky leather trousers to his shoulders draped in an onyx pelt. Without warning Clarke is forced on her stomach, arms pulled behind her lower back in one swift action. Wrists tightly bound to one another with a rough corded material, she can feel the skin already pulling raw at the strangulating tightness. 

An arm interlaces with hers on each side and instantaneously she is standing. Light flits around the man standing before her, his hand tightly clutching a sword. Tattoos, tribal and primal in design envelop nearly all of his exposed almond skin.

A soft gasp escapes, Clarke’s lips.

The man stands before her, looking down upon her with amber eyes,“Chon yu bilaik?” a gruff, soft voice fills the small, cramped space. She takes a moment to take in his sharply angled, yet soft face peppered with dark facial hair. 

“What?—I, I don’t understand, I don’t, I’m from the Ark.” Clarke lifts her head upwards, “I’m from the sky.” 

Clarke awaits a response, but is met with silence. The man looks at her with inquisitive eyes, and hesitates for merely a moment, a moment that feels like an eternity. Breaking eye contact with Clarke, he looks to the men on either side of her and begins to speak again in the unrecognizable foreign language. The men begin to nudge Clarke into movement, thrusting her into the white, warm light. 

Clarke’s senses are assaulted and overwhelmed. The sun streaks through the tree branches and warms her face, fragrant scents surround her, and the sounds of life are deafening to her ears. The brief moment of beauty is interrupted as she feels herself being pulled along, feet tumbling throwing her off balance. Clarke rights herself and begins briskly walking behind the men, glancing side to side she realizes she is terrified, but has never felt more at home in this very moment.

 


	2. Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa addresses her people, tries to figure out her plan. Glimpse of backstory. 
> 
> Clarke is on the hot mess express, enough said. 
> 
> Bad juju in the forest.

Polis 

The murmuring crowd quiets as they watch their Heda slowly pace, hands clasped behind her back, poised and relaxed. Looking out across the crowd, Lexa sees the panic, uncertainty. _I must protect my people._ “Citizens of Polis we have watched the heavens rain fire upon us, we have felt our lands cry in pain, but we will not be undone. The prophecy states that death will fall from the heavens, that Heda's spirit must protect the forest.” Lexa licks her lips and continues, “The Druids stand together, we will keep our lands safe.” 

The once overwhelming trepidation slowly dissipates from the crowd, a serene calm begins to enshroud them. People begin to disband, a majority move towards their stalls in the center of Polis to begin their daily trade. A shrill, chilled voice speaks out of the center of the gathered citizens.

“How do you plan on keeping Polis safe, if you are here? Should you not be in the forest seeing that the prophecy does not come to pass, Heda?” The crowd shifts, parting like the sea, revealing a woman draped in white fur, delicate symmetric scars decorate a sharply angled, frigid face. Her stance is confident, challenging, as she holds a staff of white bone. Intricate patterns are carved within the bone, she is poised with power. The morning light, casts an eerie glow through her ghastly white hair. 

Lexa’s piercing emerald eyes land upon the woman, her stoic face does not reveal the fury boiling within her blood. An old wound, long mended has been wrenched wide open. Clearing her throat, attempting to hide the disdain in her voice, Lexa begins, “Queen Nia, I was unaware of your presence in Polis. I returned to hold council with all of the Druid clan leaders, I expect you will attend.” 

They stare at one another, eyes locked for many moments. Heda’s spirit will not be challenged, and she makes sure it is felt within her gaze. 

With a slow nod of her head forward, the woman in white breaks her glare. The corner of her lip quirks up in a smirk “If that is what Heda believes is best for her people.” Queen Nia turns and disappears back into the gathered crowd. The sea of people obscure Lexa’s view of the woman. 

Murmurs slowly begin to rise up from the crowd before Lexa, tension begins to creep back into her momentarily relaxed posture. She can feel the forest twist in pain, her people’s panic leeching into her muscles. Before she can further address the crowd, a clap to her shoulder pulls her from her thoughts. 

“Come, she aims to make you look weak, uncertain. Remember what I taught you and move your _joken_ ass, we have work to do.” The flat affect of the dark blonde, taunts Lexa’s lip up in a lopsided smile. She turns to see Anya standing, hands upon her hips, an unapologetic look plastered upon her face, and hazel eyes glinting with amusement. 

 

Road to Tondc

Rhythmic crunching of stones and twigs beneath her feet carry Clarke through the forest. The calvary she travels with is completely mute, she is baffled by their ability to move through the forest so surreptitiously. There are no twigs creaking beneath their weight, no crunch of soil and stone, they do not speak to one another. Her legs and feet begin to ache from the terrain, the blood from her forehead bites as it mixes with sweat, falling into her eye. She welcomes the discomfort as it pulls her from the thoughts tumbling through her mind. Startlingly, Clarke slams into the back of one of the warriors escorting her through the forest. 

Blinking rapidly to clear her vision, her eyes focus on the warriors around her. The stillness of their once graceful movements leaves her perplexed. She glances upon faces that have become burdened with a weight she does not quite understand.

“Wha—” the words die in her throat as her eyes befall upon a clearing dotted with ferns. 

Clarke notices there are no sounds in this place, the forest has fallen silent. The welcomed melody of life has dwindled to the sound of her own breathing, steadily ambling in and out of her wearied body. There is a tremendous tree in middle, all of the needles have fallen from its branches, the ground blackened beneath it and the trunk has begun to rot, bark sloughing off. Birds, squirrels, and rabbits are littered beneath the tree. Their bodies limp, they are being reclaimed by the earth and insects. 

Suddenly, there is a hand around Clarke’s throat and she cannot breathe. _Panic_. Hands tied behind her back she fights against the tight bindings, feeling the slickness of blood coat her hands. A warrior once leading her, now stares into her eyes, hatred transforms his once expressionless face into pure fury. Others move to free Clarke from his windpipe crushing grip. The warrior screams, “Teik ai frag em op!” (Let me kill her!) Black spots begin to encapsulate her vision as a booming voice echoes in the clearing. 

“Em pleni!” (Enough!)

_Release_. 

Gasping, choking for each breath Clarke falls upon her knees, hearing footfalls hastily, shuffle away from her. Her lungs burn with the influx of oxygen they were once deprived, each heaving breath a painful challenge. She rests her head upon the terrain before her, waiting for the tightness around her throat to dissipate. Her wrists sting, torn and bleeding against their bondage. The panic coursing through her body is swiftly replaced with curiosity as she hears footfalls slowly approach her. 

_What now?_  

A great wooden staff pushes Clarke on to her backside. As she lays upon her back the sun fills her vision. An older, ebony woman stands over her, blotting out the sun. Her face and neck are scattered with faint scars from the past. Clarke can feel the woman’s scrutinizing gaze tearing into her, she is lost for words. A circle of bodies has constructed itself around her bruised and battered body. She looks up to each unfamiliar, unkind face. Her eyes begin to burn, threatening to unleash a torrent of tears, Clarke swallows hard and promptly looks up to the sky. Defeat begins to nimbly thread itself through her body. She closes her eyes and prays for all of this to end. 

“Linkon, teik em we.” (Lincoln, take her away.) The woman speaks coolly, before walking towards the clearing; towards the decaying tree, towards death. 

Clarke notices the man who first spoke to her at the crash site slowly nods, and moves to her side. He gently reaches down and assists her to her aching feet, she sees pity upon his face. They begin to walk in silence, none of the others traveling with them move to follow. Clarke cranes her neck to the side to watch the woman approach the tree, as her fingers embrace the tree she kneels before it. The trunk gives way under the woman’s hand, all of the warriors stand with heads bowed, watching as life abandons this clearing. _What in the hell is happening?_

After traveling a short distance, a village comes into view. Clarke marvels at how it seems to blend into the forest, as if it is apart of the land, not invading the forest. The trees tightly encircle their humble wood and stone dwellings, protectively. The bustling of people enraptures Clarke’s attention. _How long have they been here?_

As they enter the village, everything stills. Hands and voices busy with trading become tight-lipped, hushed at her approach. Villagers modestly dressed in furs and leather watch her with curious, inquiring eyes. Clarke can feel her skin crawl from all the attention, she is lead into a small wood dwelling. Sparse, handcrafted furniture dots the room. There is a large wooden post in the center, Lincoln guides her to it and begins to tether her bindings to it. Clarke sinks to the floor in a mixture of defeat and exhaustion, drawing her knees to her chest she closes her eyes. Her body protests at the awkward position, but she is left with little choice. 

Without warning there is a cool dampness blotting the laceration on her forehead. Blue eyes flicker open to a face full of sympathy. For a brief moment she relaxes into the kind gesture. Hands delicately remove the bits of dirt and rock stuck to her sweat laced face. Once the wound is cleaned, he offers her a cup of water. Clarke greedily consumes the water in its entirety, cracked lips revel in the moisture. Her mind races with how fresh it tastes, nothing like the Ark.  

Standing Lincoln begins to move away from her. His back turned in the dimly lit dwelling, he begins to speak, “The path you travel is treacherous, veida. Heda will come for you, speak true.” 

Without hesitation the dwelling door is closed and Clarke is tied down, and left alone, again. Mumbling under her breath, “Looks like I’ve traded one prison for another.” Leaning her head against the post, Clarke’s body forces her into a deep, disturbed sleep.

 

Polis

“That branwoda needs a lesson on her place, the ice nation aims to disturb the balance you created.” Anya walks in equal stride with Lexa through the city streets towards the Tower. “And since when do you travel unattended, where are your guards? Have you forgotten all of my training, seken?” An exasperated sigh escapes her as she shakes her head. 

The bustle of midmorning trade is interrupted by Lexa’s presence. Shop keepers, and stall owners lean out chanting their praise, attempting to give her crafted goods and weapons. Humbly, she declines their advances and continues on with her most trusted General in tow. 

“I sent Gustos to Tondc, I require Indra’s report on the damage the trimani has suffered. I am certain Titus seeks my presence, and I must know the facts before holding council with the Druid clan leaders. I am safe among my people.” 

Anya begins scoffing at her response, “The Fleimkepa is another one that needs to learn his place.” 

The leisurely pace grinds to a halt before the Tower doors. Lexa’s guards stand ready at each side and nod at her approach. 

“Since you are so apt to teach people of their places, I may teach you of yours.”  Lexa’s eyebrows arch in amusement, “Send for Titus, I will meet him in my chambers.” As she begins stepping forward the guards pull the massive, decorated doors open. 

The dark blonde’s face drops, a scowl knits across her face as she nods, “Sha, Heda.” Anya watches as her once pupil moves through the doors, shouldering the weight of the world. She huffs out a breath before moving towards the Flamekeeper’s chambers. 

  
Lexa’s Private Chambers

“The Spirits demand blood! We must not tarry and tempt the forest or the Druids, the prophecy is written, and so it shall come to pass!” Titus’ voice is laced with panic and determination. He stands before her enshrouded in decorative robes. His fists lean upon the heavy oak table, littered with parchment and scrolls. 

“Heda, the clans will call for your spirit to be released, if we do not move quickly. The Ice Queen already taunts you in public!” his eyes meet hers in a look of defiance.  

“Let them call!” Lexa’s voice fills the large room, animosity evident in her speech, “Titus, I remind you that I am the vessel, I am chosen. They may seek my release, but my spirit will not allow it. I will not drench our forest in innocent blood before we know anything!” 

Tension slithers into the air, and the silence becomes deafening. Titus nods his head in submission and begins to gather the parchment laid before him. 

“I will call the meeting when you deem fit.” his voice is clipped, and short. Lexa is immensely displeased with the meeting, she reflects back to her conversation with Anya. _He does need to learn his place._

“See yourself out, Fleimkepa,” Lexa turns her back to the man shuffling papers and walks to her balcony overlooking Polis. The high noon sun warms her skin, she closes her eyes and reflects on a time of simplicity. Before the calling, before the sacrifice, before her metamorphosis; _Costia_

The black blood thrumming through her veins marked her for a destiny she could not of fathomed. When the previous Heda’s spirit was released, Lexa was one of the few taken to the forest. The Tree of Life called for sacrifice, and so the Flamekeeper obliged. Each adolescent, one from each Druid Clan, was ritualized in the same manner. They consumed the fruit of the tree, a rope was placed upon their neck, and thrown over a branch. A crude hanging method. It was pulled until their feet no longer touched the earth. Veins in their neck became distended with each fervent heartbeat, that is when the bone blade was dragged across their throats. A fountain of black blood erupted from the precise cut. With each pulsation, a new splatter of blood painted the great tree, dripping from the vines, branches, and leaves. The metallic scent mixed with the soil and permeated the air. The bodies were then buried beneath the tree, in the blood soddened ground. Roots moved to envelop each body placed beneath it. 

The Spirit of the Forest chose Lexa. She is the embodiment of Tree of Life, her touch and features connect her with the flora and fauna of the lands. Her first breath, her rebirth, was one she will never forget. Shaking hands pushing soil and vines away from her body, a heaving breath, and the utter sense of loss invaded her core. To feel connected; yet, disconnected from everything around her was altogether jarring. 

She sought the only connection she still felt, Costia; her beloved. Ambling through the forest aimlessly… 

Shaking her head free from memories long since passed, Lexa finds the sun sinking in the skyline. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Also, big thanks to those for the kudos and kind comments :). 
> 
> I'll be updating rather regularly, might be a bit delayed the next few days. Will be trading hermit status for concerts and dancing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Appreciate any comments and feedback, chapters increase in length as the story progresses. Wanted to test the waters with a short, sweet beginning!


End file.
